


Day 7: Overtime (as long as you need)

by chiralchaos



Series: Turkstober 2020 [6]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Angst, M/M, Planet Scar Syndrome | Geostigma, Turkstober, sad turks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:14:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26942710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiralchaos/pseuds/chiralchaos
Summary: His nightmares have always been the same, ever since he was a teenager. Every time, he runs into the room and sees her alone in the centre, and every time, he’s too late to stop her. Their eyes meet in the final split second, when there’s no going back, and he reaches out to her. Sometimes she reaches back. But no matter how hard he tries he can’t get to her in time, and that burden follows him into awakeness.No one warned him how many nightmares he would get as the Geostigma progressed, and every one of them is the fucking same.Rufus' Geostigma only gets worse, but Tseng isn't going to leave him.
Relationships: Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Series: Turkstober 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1965964
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17
Collections: Turkstober 2020





	Day 7: Overtime (as long as you need)

His nightmares have always been the same, ever since he was a teenager. Every time, he runs into the room and sees her alone in the centre, and every time, he’s too late to stop her. Their eyes meet in the final split second, when there’s no going back, and he reaches out to her. Sometimes she reaches back. But no matter how hard he tries he can’t get to her in time, and that burden follows him into awakeness.

No one warned him how many nightmares he would get as the Geostigma progressed, and every one of them is the fucking same.

He wakes with a jolt, every inch screaming in protest at the sudden movement. It takes him a few panicked seconds of heavy breathing to realise where he is, where he STILL is, and when realisation hits he falls back to the mattress heavily. He isn’t getting any better, he realises. Maybe he actually wants to get worse. Maybe he’s just done with it all now, or maybe it’s just the fever talking. He doesn’t know how to tell anymore. All he knows is that his eyelids are already as heavy as the rest of his body, and doesn’t want to go back to the nightmares again but he doesn’t think he can stay awake either.

“Rufus?”

He knows he knows that voice before his brain even catches up, and it’s a struggle to force his eyes open again but he manages. There’s a figure sat at an angle in the chair next to the bed, elbows on knees, leaning forward, watchful. That figure was here when he last drifted, and the time before too.

“You’re still here …” he mutters, too asleep to really focus but not mistaking the other man for anyone else. Tseng’s eyes are tired, and in his own visible exhaustion he has forgotten to hide the sadness from his expression. It’s a haunted look, and one Rufus has never seen on him before. In his post-nightmare fog he thinks how he never wants to see it again; in his fever-fuelled delirium he worries it might be the last one he ever does. “I thought … Rude …”

“Rude needs a break, sir,” Tseng says gently, and it isn’t a lie.

“You were here this morning …” Rufus murmurs. He’s drifting again, back to sleep or some other unconsciousness, neither of them know. Tseng swallows when his eyes shut, knowing he can’t see him.

“Call it overtime,” he answers softly, quirking the corner of his mouth in the closest he can get to a smile. He lets it slide away when he sees Rufus’s head become heavy on his pillow, surely asleep again. He closes his own eyes for just a moment, but the other man’s voice jumps him back awake.

“…Tseng?” he murmurs weakly. The sound is tiny, and Tseng’s chest hurts. He sees the fingers on Rufus’s right hand twitch, and he moves forward, kneeling forward on the floor to be closer.

“Don‘t worry,” he says quietly. He takes his hand in his own, ungloved, and gives it a gentle squeeze. Rufus’s fingers twitch again, maybe subconsciously, in response. Tseng rests his head on the bed, but doesn’t let his eyes fall shut. “I’m here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Turkstober 2020 Day 7, Overtime. Apparently I am incapable of writing Tseng as anything other than tired.


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